


The Project Runway Factor

by carolinecrane



Series: down is where we came from [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kurt and Puck do not say the L word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Project Runway Factor

"How many times you been in love?"

Puck's sprawled on Kurt's bed, looking down at the neck of his guitar as he carefully turns the tuner on the second string, so he misses the way Kurt's shoulders tense and the flash of panic in his eyes when he looks over his shoulder at Puck. Kurt's sitting at his desk across the room, working on what-the-fuck-ever for school, and Puck's been hanging out all afternoon, tuning his guitar and thinking loud enough to distract Kurt anyway, so he figures he might as well ask the question.

"Excuse me?" Kurt says, like he was focusing so hard on bias and yardage that he missed the question, but Puck knows better. He knows all Kurt's tells already, and the red blush crawling up the back of his neck says he heard just fine.

"You heard me," Puck answers, plucking the second string one last time, just to be sure, before he moves on to the third.

For awhile there's no answer, but finally Kurt shifts in his chair, shoulders lifting and then relaxing slowly, like he's doing those breathing exercises he says calm him down. "Once or twice, I suppose."

Puck doesn't get a chance to play his old acoustic much anymore; with the band he's usually plugged in -- and his Fender is fucking awesome, don't get him wrong -- but there's just something about that acoustic vibe that takes him back. To Glee Club, mostly, which is a weird fucking thing to get all sentimental about considering it pretty much decimated his rep in high school.

He plucks the third string and listens, frowning at the slightly off note and reaching for the tuner.

"How'd you know?"

"What?" Kurt asks, sharp and surprised like _he's_ the one out of tune all of a sudden, and Puck grins at the thought. He should write a song about it, he thinks, tightening the string just a hair and leaning over to listen again. He should write a song about the way Kurt goes around all tense and buttoned up, until Puck gets him alone and starts peeling him back, layer by layer.

It's a lot of fucking work, but it's worth it.

"The last dude you fell for," he says, ignoring the twist in his stomach at the thought of Kurt feeling that way about some other guy. And he sure as hell hopes he doesn't live in L.A., because Puck doesn't really _want_ to break his jaw, but he can't make any promises. "How'd you know?"

Kurt shrugs, but there go those pink spots in his cheeks, and Puck has to exercise some pretty serious self-control to keep himself from bailing on the conversation and pulling Kurt down onto the bed instead.

"You just...know, I guess." There's a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth for a second, then it fades and all of a sudden Kurt's glaring at him like Puck left the toilet seat up again. "Wait, are you trying to tell me you've never been in love? But you've had sex with, like, _everyone_."

"First of all, I haven't had sex with that many people," Puck says. And sure, it's relative and all, but still. "Brittany's body count is way higher than mine. And second, that was just sex. Mutually exclusive, dude."

"Not always."

Puck thinks about arguing, because in his experience, sex is just sex, and anybody who makes a big deal about it isn't getting much of it anyway. But there's sex, and then there's sex with _Kurt_ , and okay, he'll admit they're not exactly the same. It's been three weeks and he's still not looking for the exit, for one thing. He wants to stay, and he wants to wake up next to Kurt and do it all over again.

That's a first for him, the just wanting to hang out part. It's the whole reason he dragged his guitar all the way over to Kurt's place just to tune it, maybe do a little writing while Kurt finishes whatever the fuck he's designing. It's due on Monday, so Kurt's been ignoring him pretty much since he got here, and Puck doesn't even mind that much, which is the weirdest part.

Because he's always been the center of attention, and he's always kind of gotten off on it. But all of a sudden he's cool with just being in the same room together, breathing the same air and maybe looking up and catching Kurt's eye every so often so he can grin when Kurt blushes.

"Fine, not always," he says, setting his guitar down on the mattress and sitting up to look at Kurt. "So what's the difference?"

Kurt shrugs like he's not really sure how to explain it. Or maybe he just thinks he shouldn't have to, and yeah, okay, it's probably not strictly necessary to make him say it out loud, but Puck still wants to hear it.

"I don't know. I guess it's when you stop focusing on what you're getting out of the relationship and start thinking about how things affect the other person."

"Like when I let you hang out with your friends on Thursday instead of, like, tying you to my bed or something."

He hates Thursday. He hates reality fucking TV and supermodels who are always knocked up and shallow fucking fashion junkies. He even hates the old dude in the three piece suit who seems like he's probably a pretty nice guy in real life. But Puck has to hate him on principle, because there he is, every Thursday night, right in the center of some TV show about fashion that Kurt and all his school friends get together to watch.

They hang out on Brittany's expensive leather couch and, like, do each other's hair and shit, and they eat celery sticks and fucking _hummus_ and talk smack about the people on the show. It's like a giant, really gay slumber party, and Puck's never invited. Not that he wants to watch the fucking show, and he doesn't really want to hang out with Kurt's school friends either, because he never understands what the fuck they're talking about, and they spend half their time just staring at him like he's some kind of alien life form anyway.

So instead of heading to Kurt's place on Thursday he just stays home and gets shit done, takes his clothes to the laundromat and works on the lyrics to whatever song he's writing or goes to the grocery store to pick up milk so Kurt won't accuse him of being completely incapable of taking care of himself, like he didn't do just fine for the three years until Kurt showed up in L.A. But it turns out Kurt makes a superior fucking cup of coffee, even in the ancient percolator the last tenant left behind, so at least the milk doesn't go to waste.

Sometimes he even hangs out with his own friends, mostly the guys from his band, and lets them call him whipped while he sulks about how his boyfriend blows him off every Thursday for a fucking TV show. Their drummer, a chick named Starr with a fantastic ass and an attitude for _days_ , claims it's good for their relationship. Something about Puck skirting stalker territory and giving Kurt a chance to breathe or whatever. She reminds him of Quinn in that way where they're both kinda right about shit, even if he doesn't want to hear it.

Still. He fucking _hates_ Thursday.

Kurt's just kind of looking at him, staring and blinking like he either said something really fucking profound, or really fucking stupid. His mouth opens and then closes again, cheeks going all red and that's when Puck knows it was the profound option. Or at least Kurt liked what he heard, and Puck can't even remember what he _said_ because most of his brain cells are still back on tying Kurt to the bed, so it's not like he can think straight anyway.

"That's one example," Kurt finally answers, but he's still staring at Puck like he's trying to figure out what planet he's from.

"What about when I picked up a spare bike helmet so you'd stop having a heart attack about my brains getting splattered all over the street every time you ride bitch?"

Kurt hates it when Puck uses 'that vulgar expression', as he always says right before he rolls his eyes. So the fact that he doesn't comment on Puck's choice of words tells him Kurt's definitely distracted. Except he can't figure out why Kurt's still just staring at him, blushing even harder now and pursing his lips the way he does when he's really focused on his school work.

"I'm sorry," Kurt finally says, taking his time with the words like he wants to make sure he gets them exactly right. "Are you saying that buying a second motorcycle helmet is a token of your...love for me? Isn't it the law?"

Puck shrugs, glancing down at his guitar where it's still lying next to him on the mattress. And he's not sure why he's suddenly nervous, but it takes him a while to look back up at Kurt anyway. "It's the law, but that's not why I did it."

There's some more staring after that, and usually Puck _likes_ it when Kurt looks at him, so he's not sure why it's making his skin feel kind of tight all of a sudden. Then again, maybe this is another one of those things that happens when you're in love. He might even ask Kurt if he ever stops staring at Puck like he's waiting for the punchline.

"What, not romantic enough for you? I bet you want to be serenaded and shit," Puck says, mostly just because somebody needs to say _something_. "Or what, you want flowers and room service and stuff? You're gonna have to help me out here, Hummel, I've never done this before."

And now Kurt sort of looks like he's thinking about passing out, which, when you add it to the fact that he still hasn't _said_ anything, is probably a bad sign.

"You don't..." Kurt says, his voice catching a little before he clears his throat and tries again, "you don't have to serenade me."

His cheeks are so pink he's practically fucking _glowing_ , and when Puck laughs Kurt's mouth curves into a little smile. It makes him look just like that sixteen-year-old weirdo Puck used to dump in the trash on a regular basis, and it makes Puck love him even more for still being that same guy, and somehow still being here with him.

"You sure?" Puck says, reaching for his guitar. "Because I've got a song all picked out and everything."

He strums the first couple chords before he looks up, grinning when he catches the moment that Kurt recognizes the tune.

"Oh my God. Please stop," Kurt says, but he's already laughing.

"Babe, this is a classic. I was thinking it could be our song," Puck says, glancing up long enough to wink before he opens his mouth and starts to sing.

"You are seriously disturbed."

Puck's got his eyes closed, head back and grinding out the lyrics in, if he says so himself, a decent imitation of the original. But he still hears the laughter in Kurt's voice, and he knows Kurt doesn't hate it as much as he's pretending.

He doesn't know all the words; he hasn't been rehearsing it or anything, and the only reason he knows as much as he does is because they do sort of a cover of it at their shows sometimes. It's mostly just to goof on it, because yeah, okay, it's seriously cheesy, and their lead singer never gets further than the first verse and a chorus or two before somebody in the band says fuck it and starts playing the Stones or something. But he belts the lyrics he knows anyway, really hitting it hard when he gets to the line _I wanna love you the best that I can_.

Kurt's still laughing when Puck opens his eyes, but as soon Puck looks at him he goes an even deeper shade of red. "How do you even know this song?"

"Hey, Hootie's got soul," Puck says, glancing down at the neck of his guitar as he shifts to a tricky chord. "He's a brother."

"Yes, because dating Mercedes for five minutes in high school taught you so much about the brothers."

"You know," Puck says, strumming the last chord before he sets the guitar down on the floor next to the bed and stands up, "sometimes knowing you my entire fucking life is a pain in the ass."

He's grinning when he says it, which pretty much kills the effect. But Kurt's still laughing anyway, and when Puck holds out a hand he rolls his eyes and takes it.

"True," Kurt agrees. He lets Puck pull him out of his chair, fingers sliding together as Puck slides an arm around his waist and backs them toward Kurt's bed.

"But sometimes," Kurt says between slow kisses, "it makes everything a little bit better."

**Author's Note:**

> The song, in case, unlike myself, you are not lame enough to listen to Hootie, is [Hold My Hand](http://www.sendspace.com/file/k43xio). (What? He does too have soul.) All credit goes to Liz for choosing the song; I just ripped off her idea like the opportunist I am.


End file.
